Archive for January, 2007

Hello from the great beyond (otherwise known as my computer room.)

I’m sitting here writing this because I am sick. I am too sick to read a book – even the large print one I have from the library. (Which, I have large print not because I’m sight-impaired, but because that’s the only copy they had of a series of books I wanted to read.) I am also too sick to lie down on the couch because if I lie down I may never ever get back up and I have to go pick up my daughter at school soon. I can’t leave her sitting there all alone. I hear it’s bad for her psyche to forget about her.

My husband is upstairs lying down because he, too, is sick. But he’s the kind of sick that you want to avoid at all costs. He’s horribly, horribly sick. (I’m just feeling a little under the weather compared to him.)

My son is in the living room watching Spongebob because he was too sick to go to school this morning. Although, as the day has progressed, I’m thinking I could have just brought him in maybe an hour late and he would have done just fine. But oh well… hindsight… you know.

So… SICK… and less stressed than before. Maybe that has something to do with the being sick, but I think it has more to do with me just saying to myself, stop being such a pansy, make up your mind and just go with it already! Which, I seem to have said to myself, and myself has resigned itself to listening to myself. Or something like that. So… Grin And Bare It – Now with less pansy and more sick. I think it makes a wonderful slogan.


I think I’m going to take a break this week and not write here. I’ll maybe post a little music…or something. Probably more towards the or something. I’m just a little stressed right now and having trouble focusing on anything. You know, like when your mind is on overdrive? You’ve got to slow it down and focus. You know?

Don’t worry about us here though, we’re doing fine. In fact, I’m not sure why I’m so stressed. It’s like an over-reaction. Some things have been hard (see: babysitting difficult child) and some things have been going really well. So well, in fact, that I think I’m stressed that it will stop going so well. It’s that old feeling of things are going too well, and we can’t keep on going along that way because then that would be too good. So I’m basically sitting here stressed about what might happen and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Yeah. That’s not good for the mind (or soul.)

So I’m taking a break. From just about everything. See you soon!

You can thank me later.

Here’s what’s on the nightly playlist at my house (because you were wondering, weren’t you?):

My daughter loves this song. It makes me want to scratch my eyes out and go completely deaf. But, you know, that’s just a matter of opinion.

My son loves this song. He also thinks the video is cool. His taste in music is a little more along the lines of mine. So at least it’s not all Fergalicious around here.

To give credit where credit is due, my daughter also likes the Move Along song. And to admit something I hate to admit, my son likes the Fergalicious song. So it’s touch and go here on the music front.

D-to the E-to the L-I-C-I-O-U-S, D-to the E-to the L-I-C-I-O-U-S…


This morning I woke up with a headache. A very hurt-y, very irritating headache. And as I always think with all my headaches, I thought it would go away with a cup of coffee and a little food. So I didn’t take any ibuprofen.

Well, folks, as you can guess, my headache is now a full blown migraine. Complete with ache behind my eye, light sensitivity, and a weird dizzy-ish feeling. Yippee!

You would think that a woman who is prone to get migraines (especially during times of stress) would recognize the signs and kill the headache before it progressed. You would think that, but it’s not what seems to happen around here.

There’s a lesson here somewhere… if only my head didn’t hurt so bad I would probably be able to see it…

(Oh, and that sound you’re hearing is my husband sighing because there’s always something wrong with you, woman. And if eye rolling had a sound you’d be hearing that too.)

Hello, conundrum. Meet your new best friend.

If you’ve been reading here a while, you know that I babysit kids for a living. Two of them. A three year old and a one year old. And I’ve had a few problems along the way. One of those problems is the behavior of the oldest child. And wouldn’t you know, I’m having trouble again.

This boy is so very intelligent, so very nice, and so very wonderful when he’s on his own. Unfortunately, when you mix in other children, he doesn’t get the undivided attention he craves and he misbehaves. Which, really, every child suffers from that occasionally. This child, however, goes overboard. And I’ll leave it at that because, hi there, Internet! I tell you way more than I should!

Sometimes I feel like I’m not providing what this child needs. I’m not mistreating him in any way. But I don’t seem to be getting through to him after a year of caring for him. We’re still having the same issues, over and over again. So I wonder if it would be best if they found someone else to care for this little boy. I wonder if it would be best for both him and me. Because there are times when I’m considering that what I do for him is above and beyond what I should do as a mere babysitter. How much am I supposed to deal with without having signed up to care for a special needs child? And after a year, when do we say this isn’t working?

Oh, but after a year, these children are special to me. I care for them. I love it when they laugh and play and cuddle and grin. We have some wonderful moments, this boy and I, and I don’t want to throw in the towel on him. I don’t want to abandon him.

But the other kids are starting to dread the bad times. And I need to take them into consideration too.

Hello, conundrum.


We took the kids to the indoor pool last night. That’s one of the advantages of living here in suburbia, where we have a golf club, fitness center and a “sprayground“. I admit that sometimes I feel so pretentious sitting in my minivan (with the all of the family’s sets of golf clubs in the back) while we drive to one of the many pools in our neighborhood. It feels like I’m not so much ‘keeping it real’ as maybe more like ‘living in la-la land’. But I digress.

We took the kids to the pool after a quick stop at Target. We had to buy my daughter a new bathing suit because she’s grown a good 3 inches since the last time we went swimming. It’s awful handy that the stores are all fully stocked with bathing suits, but it somehow felt wrong buying one when it was 34 degrees outside and sleeting.

We are currently trying to teach the kids to swim. That, however, has not been working out very well for us. Oh, we’ve made some advancements. The boy is now going under water and attempting to swim. The girl, though, is scared to death of having the water go anywhere near her head. So we think we’ll end up having to get the kids swimming lessons. Which makes me feel even more pretentious. Because when I was a kid I learned to swim in the ocean – surrounded by all sorts of not-so-nice creatures, not with a qualified instructor in a carefully pH balanced pool. (I think we may be turning the kids into pansies.)

The boy is doing better than we first thought he would. Once upon a time he was deathly afraid of water. He avoided running water of all sorts, including the bath spout and various decorative fountains. He would not go near lakes or pools. He hated water. Now we refer to him as “aqua boy” because of his love to go under water. It’s not really because of his swimming ability, though, because he seems to lack any sort of ability at all. In fact, we have determined that he is unable to even float. He walks along the bottom of the pool like he is weighted down with cement blocks. He sinks. And if there is such a thing as being too uptight to swim, that is what he is. He cannot relax enough to even straighten his body out. He spends his time in the pool all gnarled up like an old arthritic hand (if you can compare a swimming boy to an arthritic hand.) It really is a sight to behold.

The girl likes to spend her time in the pool holding onto the edge and kicking her feet behind her. She likes to be taken out into the middle while she holds onto you with a grip that turns her knuckles white and cuts off your circulation. She is surprisingly fluid in the water though. She glides and moves like she is dancing. It’s ironic that she’s the one with the proper form for swimming, but she’s too nervous to try it. But once she gets the hang of it, watch out. She’s got powerful arms and shoulders. She’s a girl built to swim.

Unlike to boy, who’s a boy built to sink, evidently.

Friday night and all is well, kinda.

I seem to be saying ‘I’m sorry for not posting’ a lot lately. Because I feel some sort of obligation to post daily. It’s like if I don’t post some sort of daily diatribe or maybe even a small piece of wit or wisdom, you will never ever come back here again. Like reading what comes from the depths of my brain is important to you. And to spare my ego, let’s pretend that it is. So on that note, I’m sorry for not providing you with daily content.

I’ve been very busy with things lately. Things being various household happenings (see: Under Construction from whatever day it was this week that I posted that) and also various mind wanderings. Oh, I’ve managed to do some important things, like do a rough draft of my tax returns (what, don’t you do a rough draft?) that went from us owing a whole heck of a lot (which heelloo, heart attack!) to us managing to get back a mere, um, pittance I guess I could call it. But pittance or no, I sure am glad that I don’t have to try and arrange some sort of payment plan with the IRS. That right there would have resulted in me having to sell one (or both) of the children.

However, I am in the throes of wanting to sell one of my children anyway. The girl one, to be specific. Because she’s – how do I put this delicately – batsh*t crazy. She’s emotional and needy and whiny and high maintenance. And loud – very, very loud. In short, she’ll make one heck of a wife one day. I just hope the highly patient (I hope) gentleman who takes her off of our hands does not come back to us looking for some sort of reparation for what he’s gone through. Buyer beware, is all I’m saying.

(Oh, hush. I love her. I really do. She’s an angel who gives me great joy and makes me smile every day. )

(Also, she makes me twitch and stutter.)

So forgive me for not being able to put a coherent sentence together. (Eh, who am I kidding. I wasn’t able to do that before.)

Happy weekend.